


Imago

by seriousshit88



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Sex Magic, True Alpha Scott McCall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7599223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousshit88/pseuds/seriousshit88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles draws a sigil of protection on Scott. Life gets a little weirder after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imago

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks go to [quicklikelight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/pseuds/QuickLikeLight) for being an awesome beta.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://www.seriousshit88.tumblr.com), so feel free to come say hi. :)

It was late. The baseball game they watched--rather, the baseball game Stiles watched and Scott almost immediately fell asleep during--was over. Stiles switched off the TV and let silence fill the room. _Relative_ silence - Scott snored softly next to him on the couch, completely oblivious to anything going on around them.

Stiles tried not to watch Scott sleep, but he looked so peaceful. He was in his final year of vet medicine, and his hours were getting long and hectic. It wasn't out of the ordinary for Scott to come home totally drained. On nights like this, he stripped out of his scrubs down to his underwear in the living room and made it only as far as the couch before he passed out.

How Stiles maintained his composure around a boxer-brief clad Scott McCall was a testament to his own will. Scott and Stiles were roommates and best friends. On occasion they were alpha and emissary. None of those designations were appropriate for the feelings he harbored for Scott, especially when Scott freely undressed around Stiles, because he considered them bros and nothing more. And why would he? Stiles gave Scott no indication of his decidedly not-platonic feelings. Life was easier when Stiles held true to one of his life’s mottos: ignore the problem until it goes away. Or in this case, refuse to acknowledge the problem because it could ruin a lifelong friendship. This philosophy seemed to be working well for Stiles. 

Scott shifted slightly and continued snoring.

Honestly, Stiles was on the verge of sleepy himself. The drudgery of paperwork he had to slog through as a junior private investigator was enough to send anyone into a coma. The baseball game was supposed to help him unwind, but it turned out he didn't need it. Stiles was at the point of exhaustion where everything started taking on a dreamy haze... 

Moonlight spilled through the open curtains and bathed the darkened room in a pale glow. Stiles took in the expanse of Scott's normally golden skin now painted in shades of blue, black, and silver, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept. From his place next to Scott on the couch, Stiles felt the supernatural warmth radiating from the slumbering werewolf sinking deep into his own bones. His eyes traced the sleep-serene lines of Scott's face from his tranquil brow to his soft, parted lips.

Stiles wasn't a person given to sentimentality, but affection mingled with a small amount of possessiveness swelled inside him. 

Maybe there was already magic in that moment. Maybe Stiles only felt the familiar longing he'd grown accustomed to whenever he was around Scott, a deep ache somewhere in his gut that followed him like a constant companion. Whatever the reason, Stiles felt an impulse to do _something_.

Biting his lip in thought, he carefully considered his acceptable options. The obvious one was to not do anything and just go to bed. It was less risky than anything else he could come up with. He ignored his feelings for Scott for this long, what was one more night?

But another idea occurred to him.

 _This is really, really weird_ , Stiles thought to himself as he reached out with careful fingers and traced a wide circle feather-light over Scott's exposed torso. 

Despite his firm appearance, Scott was softer than he seemed. Stiles didn’t know what he was expecting, but Scott’s skin was smooth and supple to the touch. He wanted to press harder and soak up the sensory input at his fingertips, but he was sure that would wake Scott. 

Sigil magic wasn't particularly difficult. Stiles had been studying it for years, and perhaps that's why the movement came so easily to him. He positioned his fingers inside the invisible circle he made and began with two vertical lines drawn on either side of Scott’s abdomen. His fingers ghosted over the divots of Scott's abs as they rose and fell with Scott's relaxed breathing. Next, Stiles traced a horizontal line connecting the two in the middle. 

Scott giggled sleepily, sending Stiles’s heart slamming into his throat. He froze and waited to see if Scott had actually woken up. A few tense seconds ticked by before Scott began snoring again. Stiles heaved a quiet sigh of relief and hurried to finish. 

Stiles hesitated to draw the next part, because it brought him dangerously close to Scott’s nipples. He decided to improvise and drew a wide ‘v’ below Scott’s breastbone. The ‘v’ connected with the horizontal line, and its point extended into a final line that slanted down and connected to the line on the right. A curvy line resembling an ‘s’ completed the sigil.

The design Stiles chose was one he'd drawn countless times, though never had he drawn it _on_ someone. It seemed fitting that he'd place a sigil of protection on Scott.

Though it wasn’t part of the original drawing, Stiles placed a small circle inside a slightly larger circle just above the sigil and in the middle of Scott’s chest. Memories of both him and Scott completing the same symbol in a patch of dirt long ago bubbled to the surface of Stiles’s mind. Back then, it was an expression of unity, of Scott reaffirming his pack bond with Stiles after what was probably the lowest point in their friendship. But now, not only did the symbol represent unity, it represented strength, perseverance, empathy, and the tenacious will to survive. 

When he was done, Stiles checked to see if Scott was still asleep.

He wasn't.

"Dude, that tickles," Scott yawned. "Is the game over?"

Stiles pulled his hand back and tried to play it cool. Even though he was sort of Scott's emissary, he didn't want to explain why he was drawing sigils on him while he slept. The response would lead to a whole other set of questions Stiles was far from ready to answer. "Yeah, it just ended. You missed the entire thing."

Scott hummed something and drifted back to sleep.

Deciding he'd rather not take any more chances, Stiles left and went to bed.

Drawing sigils was one thing, but charging them was another. Stiles usually had the benefit of being able to _see_ the sigil he was using. In this case, not only was the sigil bearer in another room, but the sigil itself was invisible. There was only one way he could think of to charge it in this circumstance, and Stiles wanted to kick himself for not thinking this all the way through from the beginning.

Stiles normally burned his sigils to charge them; that wasn't an option in this case. Unfortunately, in order the raise the energy needed to charge _an invisible sigil drawn on his best friend_ , Stiles was going to need some heavy duty energy. As in sexual energy. As in an orgasm. It was the easiest and quickest way to do this without harming anyone (aside from his pride, that is). He was usually very careful to not specifically think of Scott while masturbating. Except for a few slip-ups in high school, Stiles was good at not associating his best friend with boners--no matter how much his boners wished to disregard those boundaries. 

Stiles undressed, lay back on his bed, and took a deep breath. He tentatively palmed himself through the fabric of his boxers and was surprised to find he was already half hard.

"Jeez," Stiles muttered. His dick couldn't even pretend to not be interested in Scott.

A part of him (the part that wasn't his dick) realized he should have asked Scott's permission before drawing a sigil on him. He could stop this right now and forget he ever allowed his infatuation with Scott to get carried so far away.

But was it infatuation? Or was it something else? Something even more irrational and more permanent?

Stiles huffed in annoyance. He was asking himself too many questions. Scott was his friend, and Stiles would do anything to keep him safe. If that meant doing a little surreptitious magic, then so be it. If it worked, Scott would thank him. If it didn't, he'd never know. This was no different from a more religious person actually _praying_ for their loved ones, so there were zero reasons why Stiles shouldn't go through with this.

His resolve bolstered, Stiles took off his underwear and grabbed the lube he kept stashed underneath his pillow. He squirted a generous amount into his hand and slicked himself up.

“Cold, cold, cold,” Stiles hissed as he spread the chilly liquid over his shaft. He hissed for an entirely different reason when he smoothed his palm and fingers over the sensitive head. If Stiles were doing this for the sole purpose of jerking off, he’d allow himself to linger there, maybe tease himself with light touches like tiny licks, imagine the head disappearing between hot, plush lips (that absolutely did _not_ belong to anyone Stiles knew). But he didn’t want to get caught up in extraneous details. The task before him required all of the focus he could muster. The lube quickly warmed between Stiles’s hand and his dick; he was ready to get down to business. 

Stiles started with slow strokes while picturing the protection sigil in his mind. He imagined it glowing faintly on top of Scott's abdomen, keeping him safe and whole and unharmed. Perfect. Scott was perfection, and he needed to be protected.

The sigil glowed a little brighter in his mind, and Stiles picked up the pace. Luckily for him, he wasn't looking for slow and sensual right now. He only needed to reach orgasm. His breath came rapid and shallow. As quietly as he could, Stiles began repeating the words represented in the sigil.

"He will survive." Stiles whispered. "He _will_ survive."

The sound of his own voice in the darkness seemed to spur him on. A warm flush bloomed across Stiles's skin as the words repeated themselves into a mantra. They tumbled from his lips with increasing fervency.

In a sharp flare of light, Stiles pictured the sigil glowing even brighter. He saw Scott watching him, his face illumined by the fiery glow of the sigil burnished into his skin, dark eyes fixed on his and glittering with strength.

A shiver ran down Stiles's spine. "He will survive. He will survive. He wi--fuck--will survive. Hewillsurvive." Stiles began to lose himself in the incantation. He absently caressed then pinched one nipple and then the other with his free hand. He imagined Scott's hands on him, gentle fingers trailing across his sensitive skin leaving searing bliss in their wake. Precum leaked from the head of his dick, and Stiles choked back a groan. How could he be this close already?

"Hewillsurvive, _hewillsurvivehewillsurvivehewillsurvive_..." Stiles's voice grew louder, and he distantly worried about waking Scott in the living room. His worry was quickly drowned by the thought of Scott's lips on his neck nursing a mark of his own onto Stiles's flesh.

In the depths of Stiles's mind, Scott's eyes flared red as the burning sigil completely engulfed him in light.

"Sc-ott..."

Stiles came while saying Scott's name. He didn't mean to, but there it was. The orgasm was, to put it mildly, _intense_. Pleasure blazed across every synapse as Stiles's senses temporarily short circuited. He keened helplessly as he spilled over his fingers and onto his stomach in spastic pulses. The edges of his vision whited out; his hearing reduced to a single, high-pitched whine. Stiles curled in on himself and tried desperately to remain conscious as he rode out the last of the orgasm. When it was over and the aftershocks subsided, tingles raced all over Stiles's body. He had never cum so hard in his life.

"Fuck," was the only response he could muster, and even that came out in a broken whine.

Time would tell if the protection sigil was charged or not. Stiles finally let go and allowed himself to fall freely into dreamless sleep.


End file.
